


Sweet Nothings

by BloodEnvy



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, NSFW, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Sexting, Smut, Snapchat, dom!Clint, sex in public
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEnvy/pseuds/BloodEnvy
Summary: Late night insomnia is driving you crazy, so a snap decision leads you to sending your friend, teammate and crush Clint Barton a snapchat message...





	1. One

You rolled over again irritably, adjusting your pillows for what felt like the fiftieth time and sighing as you stared up at the ceiling. You had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, but you couldn’t stay comfortable. You’d overheat under your covers and throw them off, only to find yourself too cold without them a few moments later. Every new position you tried became uncomfortable after a couple of minutes, and your pajamas somehow felt both constricting and too loose all at once.

You closed your eyes again and willed for yourself to sleep. You had a training session booked with Steve at eight-thirty a.m., and there was no way you’d survive Captain America putting you through your paces if you were sleep-deprived. After a few minutes more, you let out a growl of frustration, rolling over and grabbing your phone from the bedside table. You tugged it from the charger and winced as the screen lit up, way too bright. Unlocking it and quickly adjusting the brightness setting to a more bearable level, you suppressed another sigh as you read the time. The clock declared it two twenty-three.

Why couldn’t you just _sleep_?

You scrolled through Facebook, then Instagram, but of course no one was updating this early on what was now technically a Tuesday. You contemplated opening Netflix in the hopes that background noise would help you drift off, but on a whim, you opened snapchat instead.

Most of your contacts -- and most of the Avengers, for that matter -- were undoubtedly asleep right now and blissfully unaware of your current frustrations. The only ones away were Clint and Natasha, who’d left three days ago on a mission to god knows where, and you noticed Clint had added to his snapchat story a couple of hours ago. You tapped it and smirked in amusement as it opened a video taken from somewhere high up -- either a rooftop or a fire escape. It slowly zoomed in, the screen filled with cartoon hearts from some filter. It came to focus on a German Shepherd being walked by its owner, its tongue lolling out of its mouth happily.

You bit your lip as the video ended, considering for a moment before you tapped his name again and opened the camera. You snapped a quick picture of the ceiling, uncaring that it was too dark, blurry and uninteresting, and sent it to him with the message:

_Any chance you’re awake?_

You tossed your phone aside as soon as it declared the message sent, rolling your eyes at yourself. Chances were he was either still working, in which case you really shouldn’t be bugging him, or he was, in typical Clint fashion, asleep like everyone else. Hell, of all the Avengers to text, he was the least likely to be awake at any given time. The number of times you’d found him passed out on one of the many couches in the tower was ridiculous, although always entertaining. You hoped you hadn’t woken him up.

A few times, you’d been reading in your room when Nat and Clint had surprised you with a couple of six packs and the promise of a hilariously bad horror he’d found online. Your room had its own entertainment area, and the three of you would park yourselves in front of the TV, beer in hand and ready to roast. Nat usually curled up in the armchair, feline and for once relaxed, and Clint would almost always end up with his head in your lap, stretched out on the couch with his feet kicked out over the arm. You’d always roll your eyes, but he’d just pout playfully up at you, so you never complained.

Clint had fallen asleep a couple of times, and while Nat always insisted you could just wake him up, you could never bring yourself to do it. So, you’d carefully extricate yourself from under him, throw a spare blanket over him and go to bed. He’d always make it up to you by bringing you coffee in bed the next morning.

You briefly considered sending a message to Nat instead, but she’d be less than happy if you woke her up. Besides, on the off chance they mentioned it to each other, you didn’t want to seem lonely and desperate for distraction. Even if you kind of were.

You started slightly as your phone beeped with the familiar sound a Snapchat alert. You fumbled to rescue your phone from the covers again, half-expecting to find that you’d imagined it.

Snapchat from: Clint Barton.

You unlocked your phone and opened the message, greeted with a slightly out of focus shot of what looked like a hotel room entryway. It was clearly taken without much thought while he was walking into the room – half of it was aimed at the floor, and you could see the corner of a bed, complete with bed skirt and a bunch of bags piled up at the foot of it. Clearly, he hadn’t bothered to unpack.

The message layered over the top read: _It’s your lucky night. What’s up? :)_

You smiled to yourself, snapping another shot of your ceiling. _Can’t sleep. It’s driving me crazy._

A reply came through quickly, another slightly blurry shot of a nondescript hotel room. He’d kicked off his boots; you could see one in the corner of the picture. _Why? Thoughts of me? ;) :P_

You rolled your eyes and smirked. _Smooth. Did Tony teach you that one?_

A picture of the basket of complimentary snacks on top of the minifridge. _Please. That’s all me, baby :P_

Laughing, you replied: _How’s the mission?_

The next shot showed the room’s alarm clock. So, you were in the same time zone, at least. _Snooze-fest. Just switched out with Nat on surveillance. Been trailing this guy for nine hours._

_Please tell me you had to wear some ridiculous disguise._

The reply took a couple of minutes, and you tapped it open eagerly when it came. Clint had sent back a selfie this time, taken in front of the room’s slightly foggy mirror. The photo was badly lit – the lights were cheap fluorescents and behind him – and he was clad in typical Clint fashion: a tee shirt, hoodie and leather jacket. He was wearing dark wash jeans instead of the usual sweats though, his free hand tucked into the pocket.

It was a perfectly non-descript outfit on the streets of wherever-the-hell you were sure, but still a good look on him. He was giving you a small, lop-sided smile, and you breathed a chuckle at the filter-induced flower crown wreathing his head.

_Only if you consider this ridiculous. And comment carefully, Y/N. I’m a sensitive guy._

You shook your head in amusement. _You look fabulous, darling! Shante, you stay!_

Clint rewarded you with another selfie a few minutes later, this time taken from the front-facing camera. He was turning his head to give you a heroic, Rogers-esque raised chin. The pose emphasized his jawline and the curve of his throat, the stoicism ruined slightly as you noticed the corner of his lips tilted upwards in a smirk. His leather jacket was gone. _Damn straight, I do._

_Be honest. Just how much drag have you had to do for the job?_

_Now what kind of spy would I be if I told you? ;)_ came with another unparticular shot of his room.

You laughed again, rolling onto your side to switch on the bedside lamp. You settled back against the pillows again, holding your phone above you after switching to the front camera. Smiling up at it, you gave it a cheesy wink and labelled it before pressing send.

_Fine, but just know, I’ve got some boots that’d look killer on you._

The picture you received a few minutes later mirrored yours. Clint was laying on his bed, giving you a warm, crooked smile that crinkled his eyes and showed the dimple in one of his cheeks. You felt your own lips tug upwards in response. His shirt and hoodie were gone, and you could see the curve of his bare collarbone and the beginnings of the swell of his pectorals. He had one arm tucked under his head, the muscles corded and firm under his skin.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed Clint before, especially his arms. The way the muscles bunched and tensed as he pulled back on his bow, or how they flexed during weight training or sparring with one of the others. You’d never seen him without a shirt before though, and now just from the hint of his chest you could see that the rest of him was just as impressive.

Your gaze returned to his smile again before you read the message attached.

_There you are :) was wondering if I’d ever get to see your face again._

Your teeth touched your bottom lip as you smiled, and you felt your cheeks warm as you read it again. Another snap came through before you could think of a response.

_Cute pj’s by the way._

You smirked, glancing down at yourself. You were wearing an old tee shirt with the Dog Cops logo emblazoned across the chest. On a whim, you kicked of the blankets again and rolled your hips to the side, one leg bending on top of the other. You took a photo, considering it for a few moments. You weren’t wearing pants, just panties, and the way your body was positioned made the shirt ride up on your hip and accentuated the curves of your waist and backside.

Maybe if you were more awake you’d reconsider sending it, deciding it was a little too racy to send to a friend. To a teammate almost fifteen years your senior. But sleep-deprived you decided to consider his shirtless selfie a challenge, and the same part of you that kept noticing his arms wanted to see if you could make him blush too.

So, you labelled it – _What? This old thing?_ – and pressed send.

Nerves blossomed inside you as soon as you did, and the butterflies moved to flutter low in your belly as you saw Clint had opened it. No immediate response came, and you refreshed the feed a couple of times before cursing at yourself under your breath. Maybe you’d taken it too far. You liked Clint. Maybe you’d screwed it up.

You turned off your lamp, resigning yourself to the same restlessness you’d been suffering through before. You jumped as your phone suddenly rang, too loud that late at night. Clint’s name lit up your screen, and you swiped to answer after a moment, holding it to your ear.

“Hi?”

“Okay, first of all, it is officially against the law for you to wear anything other than what you’re wearing right now.” Clint said, his voice warm and honeyed and familiar in your ear. You felt your cheeks turn pink again at his words. Chuckling quietly, you returned your gaze to the ceiling. “Hey, I’m serious. No more pants.”

“Ah, the dream…” you sighed jokingly and heard him laugh in response. “So, it’s the illegal now, huh?”

“Yup. I’m calling it right now.” Clint said. Over the phone, his tone sounded like a different kind of relaxed than you usually heard, even when it was just the three of you, late at night and half asleep. It was soft and humored, almost flirting with intimate. “No more pants for you.”

“And who exactly is going to enforce this law of yours, Mr. Barton?”

“Hey, you need me to put you in handcuffs, I’ll do it.” Clint offered jokingly. “I’m an Avenger; it’d be my patriotic duty.”

“And here I thought Steve was supposed to be the patriotic one.”

“Why? Would you rather he ‘cuff you, Y/N?” Clint asked, his voice turning huskier than before, quieter. You felt a shivery sensation settle in the small of your back as he said your name.

That fluttering feeling returned to your abdomen as the image of Clint approaching you, shirtless, sweats slung low on his hips and a set of handcuffs angling from his fingertips flittered through your mind. Your cheeks darkened after a moment, as if Clint could somehow know what you were thinking.

Your fingers skimmed over your thigh and upwards, pushing your shirt up over your underwear to bare the skin of your stomach to the cool air of your bedroom.

“No…” you murmured teasingly, smiling playing at your lips. “I’m just saying he’d be proud of you.”

Clint chuckled, low in your ear, and you shivered. “Proud? Hell, if he could hear half the things I’ve been thinking about since you sent that picture, he’d blush.”

“Oh?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper in the phone. Your fingertips continued their idle journey along your stomach, circling your navel slowly. “Like what exactly?”

“Like you have the most gorgeous, unbelievably sexy legs I have ever seen.”

“You’ve seen my legs before, Clint,” you pointed out with a bashful smile.

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Clint replied easily. “Nat’s caught me staring more than once. It’s not exactly an original thought.”

“Or a particularly blush-worthy one, Hawkeye,” you teased, teeth grazing your bottom lip as your fingers slid over your hip and up your ribs. “As far as thoughts go, that one’s pretty PG. I don’t think it’d phase him.”

“Oh, no. It’s what I want to do with those legs that gets the adult content warning.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint murmured. “Is this too much?”

“No, just… unexpected,” you admitted softly, your hand pausing on your ribs. “It wasn’t that kind of ‘oh’.”

“What kind of ‘oh’ was it, then?” he asked huskily.

You smirked to yourself, your fingers continuing their glacial pace up your belly. “It was the kind of ‘oh’ that is insanely curious about what exactly you want to do with my legs.”

Clint chuckled warmly. “Oh, where to begin, baby…”

Your hand pushed your shirt higher, whispering against the bottom curve of your breast. You felt your nipples tighten as your shirt bunched against them, and a shiver danced down your spine at the sound of the pet name.

“You have any idea how many times I’ve thought about running my hands over those thighs, Y/N?” he continued, his voice taking on a rough quality that was suddenly becoming one of your favorite sounds in the universe. “To feel just how soft that skin would be under my hands? To feel them wrap all tight and eager around my waist?”

You traced the underside of your breasts, sending goosebumps over your flesh. You sighed at the sensation.

“How would you react to my hand on your thigh?” he asked quietly. “How would it feel to run my fingers over the inside of it?”

Your breath caught as you tugged your shirt up to bare one of your breasts, the smallest of moans slipping between your lips as you flicked your nails over your nipple. Clint hummed appreciatively in response, his tone turning to a kind of knowing amusement. “Where are your hands, Y/N?”

Your hand came to a stop as you circled your nipple. “Huh?”

“Where are your hands?” Clint repeated, a smirk in his voice. “Right now?”

“Uh… on the phone?”

He snickered. “Both of them?”

“…No.”

“Then where is it?”

Smirking, you took your phone from your ear to quickly open Snapchat again without ending the call. You extended your arm to take a quick photo of yourself from the neck down – your stomach bare, one leg bent and your hand over your exposed breast – and sent it to him. You held the phone to your ear again with a smile.

“See for yourself, Hawkguy.”

Clint cursed appreciatively in your ear after a moment, and your thighs squeezed together at the sound. “Goddamn, Y/N…” he muttered. “You’re killing me here.”

You giggled, stroking your sternum lightly. “You’re welcome.”

“Give it a little tug for me.”

“Very commanding of you, Agent Barton,” you teased, but your breath caught as your fingers pulled at your nipple, ruining your playful tone. “I kinda like it.”

“Good to know,” Clint replied with a breathy laugh. “Now do it again.”

You hummed in amusement, and it tapered into a small moan as you pinched lightly at your nipple again, tugging it. Clint’s steady breathing faltered slightly at the sound of it, and you couldn’t help but whine in response. You closed your eyes, wondering where his own hands were, and yours trailed down from your breast to tease the waistband of your underwear at the idea.

“Have you ever thought about me?” Clint asked as you slipped your fingers over your underwear to stroke yourself through the thin cotton. You were already soaking through them, and you sighed as you brushed your hand over your cotton-covered clit. The archer’s tone was soft and curious, undercut with the thread of genuine need and desire. “Like this?”

“Yeah…” you admitted, hooking your fingers in your waistband and dragging your underwear down to your knees. You kicked them off and slid your fingertips back up your thigh to trace your labia. “Yeah, I do.”

“How often?” Clint’s voice was rough, catching slightly. You hummed lightly as your finger dipped into your folds, and it deepened into a moan as it found your clit. You began circling it slowly with two fingers, the pressure light and teasing. “Y/N…”

“Sometimes,” you murmured. “…Every time.”

“Fuck…” Clint groaned headily, and you increased the pressure on your clit, your breathing growing labored. “Fuck me, Y/N, you’re gonna be the end of me.”

“Clint…”

“You know,” he said after a moment. His voice was steady, if only barely. “I have this fantasy about you.”

The coil in your belly tightened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And the balcony at the tower.”

You cradled the phone against your ear and the pillow, your hand now free to ghost over your chest. Goosebumps tickled your flesh, and you hiked your shirt up higher. You grunted quietly as you circled your fingers around your nipple and tugged.

“I love the view from up there.” Clint rumbled in your ear, his tone too husky to be conversational. “You can see the whole city from that balcony. See the lights, the traffic. All the people on the street. But they can’t see you. They have no idea you’re up there, watching over them. It’s both private, and exposed.”

Any comment you were going to make about him living up to his superhero pseudonym died on your lips as you dipped your fingers lower, teasing your entrance. You rolled your nipple between your fingertips, sliding a finger inside you. You pumped it slowly, in time with his words.

“It’s a private little world, right up there in the middle of everything. And every time I’m up on that balcony, I can’t help but think about what it would be like to have you up there with me. Just the two of us. Alone.” he continued. “The way I picture it… you’re standing out there, all by yourself. Your hands are on the railing, and you’re just… staring out at the view.

“And I come out to join you. I step up behind you, but you don’t turn around. You just let me take hold of your hips and hold you there, right on the edge. You press your body back against mine as I kiss your neck… kiss your shoulder. Kiss you and touch you and feel you start to come undone right there in front of those big, wide windows where anyone could see us.”

“Oh, god, Clint…” you moaned as you added another finger, pressing the heel of your hand against your clit.

“And I’d run my hands up those gorgeous thighs and bunch your dress up in my fists…”

“Clint, please…” you whined, your left hand slipping from your breast to rub your clit, your hips arching into your hands as you pumped your fingers inside you.

“And then we fuck, right there, Y/N. Right there, up on that balcony.” Clint whispered, his breathing ragged. “Long and hard and deep right there against the railing.”

“Oh, fuck!” You pitched forward, quivering, as your orgasm began to crest. Your fingers moved jerkily against your clit, the coil in your belly tightening to breaking point. “Fuck, Clint…!”

“I’m with you, baby. _Fuck,_ I’m with you.” Clint groaned. “C’mon, come for me…”

You did, the phone falling from your ear as you pitched forward, your teeth in your bottom lip as you tried to muffle your cry. Your whole body shuddered as you lay back against the pillows again, wiping your fingers on the sheets before rescuing your phone and pressing it to your ear.

Clint gave a delirious-sounding chuckle as you did, both of you catching your breath. “Damn…”

“Tell me about it.” You giggled, brushing hair away from your sweat-sheened forehead. “Didn’t exactly see my night going this way.”

“Oh, please. I know you were trying to seduce me.”

“You mean _succeeding_ , thank you very much,” you joked, smiling softly as he laughed.

“Think you’ll be able to get to sleep now?” Clint asked affectionately, his voice warm, but you could hear his own exhaustion underneath it. He’d been on mission for hours, and you felt a surge of warmth in your stomach at knowing he’d stayed up just to talk to you.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good. Then my work here is done.”

You bit your lip. “Is it?”

Clint hesitated for a moment. “Do… do you want it to be?”

You felt blood return to your cheeks, and your smile widened. “Call me tomorrow?”

“As soon as I’m free.”

“Night, Clint.”

“Sweet dreams, baby.”


	2. Whispered Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two weeks after the late night call with clint, he’s finally back in town. and the balcony is just waiting for the two of you to revisit his fantasy.

“Relax, Y/N. Anyone would think you’d never been to one of Stark’s parties before.”

The familiar, dulcet tones of Natasha’s voice teased in your ear, and you smiled, feeling some of the tension in your shoulders release. You hadn’t even realized that you’d been holding your breath, but now, you forced yourself to release it with a soft sigh. You’d arrived late to Starks latest black-tie soiree (an evening of revelry for the two hundred biggest donors to the Stark Relief Foundation), having spent probably too much time trying to decide on a dress.

You’d finally settled on a simple, A-line cocktail dress in lavender. The soft flair of the skirt from your waist fell to your knees, and you’d paired it with a pair of simple black heels that bumped your height up another few inches. Understated, maybe, but you hadn’t been able to resist wearing his signature color. You’d been making small talk with the wealthy and generous for the past couple of hours, finding reprieve from their questions with other members of the team every chance you got.

Finally seeing Natasha created a swirl of emotions in your stomach – while there was a touch of that familiar, relaxing sensation you’d come to associate with her presence, you also felt a spike of nerves – if she was back from the mission, surely Clint was too.

The two of you had continued swapping text messages and snapchat selfies for the better part of the last two weeks, and while – thanks to his shared room with Natasha and long shifts following that guy around – you hadn’t had much of a chance to revisit the themes of the conversation you’d had that first night, it had remained easily flirty and occasionally inappropriate the entire time. Clint had a talent for skipping between innocent and suggestive with ease from message to message and you often found yourself blushing as you checked your phone.

His fantasy had been replaying in your head since that night as well, especially since you lived so very close to that very balcony. And now, standing in formalwear twenty odd feet from it, you could basically feel your entire body buzzing with the idea. You hadn’t been sure if they would make it back in time, but here Nat was, which meant he had to be back in New York too. Had he come tonight? Did he want to see you?

“Hey, you actually made it!” you exclaimed, turning and accepting the glass of old-fashioned she pressed into your hand. You met her smile with one of your own, giving her a quick, one-armed hug. “You were cutting it pretty close there.”

“A woman’s work is never done,” she replied with a joking sigh.

“Tell the truth, did you hurry back here to make it to the party, or did you just miss me?” you asked, taking a sip from your glass. “You can tell me, I promise I won’t judge.”

The corner of Nat’s mouth curved upward slightly, and she brushed a curl behind her ear. “You’d have to ask Barton.”

You paused, lowering your glass from your lips. “Oh?”

“I’ve never seen him so ready to leave a three-star hotel. They’ve never bothered him before,” she continued, her tone light. Although, you could have sworn there was an almost knowing lilt to her words. Had she already figured the two of you out? Had she caught him mid-conversation? Had he told her – _what_ had he told her?

She stretched out her back slightly, the movement accentuating her curves in the sleek black dress she was wearing. “Although, even for a stakeout, those beds were pretty awful.”

“Still, Clint’ll sleep on anything,” you pointed out, attempting casual. “And I can’t imagine he’d be eager to get back to something he’d have to wear a tie to… Did he come tonight?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s around her somewhere.” Nat eye-rolled good-naturedly. “You know Barton. He’s always got an eye on things.”

Your phone beeped with a snapchat message in the hidden pocket of your dress, and you fished it out instinctively. Nat finished her drink and stepped past you speaking in your ear as she did.

“You’re tense again.”

You turned long enough to roll your eyes at her – as she knew you would – before unlocking your phone.

Snapchat: Clint Barton.

You opened to see a shot of… yourself. Taken from somewhere high, behind you and to your left, in conversation with Nat. _You look amazing._

You spun around, eyes searching in the direction the photo had been taken from. Seeing nothing, you shook your head in amusement, and tapped out a response without a photo.

_You going to join us anytime soon?_

The response was quick: _Maybe. Did you miss me?_

You bit your lip, casting another searching look around the room. You smiled distractedly at Bruce as he caught your eye but didn’t spot the archer. Butterflies swirled low in your belly as you typed back your response, exploding as you pressed send.

_I’ll see you on the balcony later?_

No reply came immediately, and your nerves almost had a chance to return until your phone finally beeped again, a few minutes later.

Snapchat: Clint Barton

_< 3_

***

It wasn’t for another few hours that the party began to wind down, and while many guests stayed and made themselves comfortable at the bar or on the couches while the band wound down, most of the guests were retiring for the evening. The rest of the team were among those who had stayed, and while Thor and Steve – both tipsy on Asgardian booze – had proved entertaining distractions for a while, your butterflies were beginning to take flight again.

You’d finally spotted Clint about an hour after his last message; he was standing by the bar, and the sound of his laugh at something Tony said caught your ear. He was actually dressed for the occasion, and it suited him; the navy suit he wore fitted him well, and the burgundy tie added a splash of color against the stark white shirt. He caught your eye for a second, his teeth touching his bottom lip for a second, and winked. You felt your cheeks warm in response.

His smiled had widened, but neither of you had approached the other all night. The tension in your belly had grown each time he caught your eye, and you’d found yourself avoiding his eye just so you wouldn’t be caught in a blush.

You excused yourself as Nat and Bruce joined the three of you, and after a quick stop in the bathroom to reapply your lipstick and self-consciously touch up your hair, headed out onto the balcony. You closed the door behind you quietly, happy to find the space unoccupied. You stepped up to the edge, off to the side where you’d be harder to see from inside, leaning on the railing to watch the distant lights of luxury cars and limousines pulling out from the Tower’s underground parking lot to join the late-night traffic down below.

“You’re cute when you blush, you know.”

You almost jumped at the sound of Clint’s voice, quiet behind you, but you were unsurprised that he managed to join you outside without you hearing him. For such a clumsy guy, he could really turn on the stealth when he wanted to. You smiled to yourself, eyes still trained on the view.

“I’m starting to get why you like this private world of yours,” you replied, tucking hair behind your ear as it caught in the breeze. “It’s beautiful.”

You stiffened ever so slightly as you felt Clint’s hand touch your waist; you hadn’t realized he was standing so close. His palm settled against your dress as you relaxed into his tough, his fingers spreading possessively over your ribs. You sighed pleasantly, your breathing unsteady as you leaned back into him, his chest brushing up against your back.

“You have no idea how much you’ve been killin’ me tonight…” Clint murmured, the fingertips of his other hand ghosting against the side of your throat. He brushed hair away from your skin, his breath warm against your neck, and you shivered against him. “…Hell, you’ve been killin’ me for the last two weeks.”

His lips touched the curve at the base of your neck and you arched under him, your hands tightening on the cold metal of the railing in front of you, like it could anchor you, keep you locked in his embrace. A whimper escaped your lips as his own moved to press open-mouthed kisses carefully up to the skin behind your ear, and you could feel his lips curve into a smile at the sound. His teeth grazed your skin as he let out a soft laugh in your ear. Both his hands now rested on your hips, and his grip tightened as you slung your hips back against his.

Clint’s forehead fell against your shoulder, his breathless chuckle muffled against your bare skin. “You don’t play fair.”

“And you do?” you whispered, breath catching as his hand travelled up your side. It traced its way over your shoulder, pausing long enough to toy with the strap of your dress, slipping it out of place before trailing down your arm. Your hand moved to cover the one he still had on your hip, and he fisted it in your dress, bunching the skirt of it up against your thigh.

“Not my fault,” he told you, lips pressed to your shoulder blade. His hand closed over yours on the rail, his palm rough against your skin. His body was flush against your back, and you could feel the heat of him through his suit. The hard expanse of his chest pressed against your back, and you leaned into him. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this… about you… for two damn weeks.”

“Me either,” you admitted with a breathless giggle, your head falling back against his shoulder. Clint’s hand slipped back up your arm and ghosted briefly over the swell of your breast and lingered around your throat before catching your chin carefully. “It’s all I’ve been able to—”

You were cut off as he turned your face towards his and finally caught your lips in a kiss. His lips were soft and wanting against yours, and they sent a yearning and a heat through you to pool low in your belly like liquid. Clint’s teeth grazed your bottom lip, his tongue slipping over the sensitive skin a second later. You couldn’t help the moan that followed, especially with his hand bringing your dress higher, his knuckles brushing up your thigh. His lips caught the sound, and he broke away to kiss your cheek… kiss your jaw… kiss your neck.

“Clint…” you muttered, voice catching at you felt your skirt reach the curve of your backside. Clint’s hand – the one not holding your dress – teased your waist before slipping down to trace that same curve, fingertips dipping once under the lacy edge of your panties.

“Tell me to stop and I will, Y/N,” he promised, sucking a mark into the skin just below your jaw. His fingers slipped underneath the lace, and you sighed headily as he grazed a finger lightly along the edge of you. By way of answer, you pressed back against him, whining as his finger slipped between your labia. His fingertip brushed over your clit, and the ache that had been building inside you fractured at that first hint of real pleasure, the first promise of release. “Fuck, you’re wet…”

Arching back, you felt the length of him press into the cleft of your ass. You could feel him harden through his pants, a suggestion at the size of him. Clint groaned, his teeth grazing the curve when your shoulder met your throat. He rewarded you by adding another finger, the two of them pressing on your clit. “Christ, baby, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“But what… what a way to go,” you laughed breathlessly, rolling your hips on his hand. It caught in your throat as you felt his thumb find your entrance, and the sound became a moan as he slid it inside you. “Fuck, Clint…”

“Oh, you gotta say that again.” His forehead bumped against your shoulder.

“Can they see us?”

You felt Clint shake his head against the side of your throat as he slowly pumped his thumb inside you, fingers circling your clit. You shivered as he ran his tongue along the shell of your ear, breath catching as his teeth closed around your earlobe and tugged. “They have no idea what they’re missing.”

“Good,” you teased, bringing Clint’s other hand to your hip again. “Show me how this fantasy goes, Hawkeye.”

Clint’s answering chuckle was husky and quiet, a reminder of the intimate tone he’d used that first night on the phone, and you felt the laugh against your back. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, and you bit your lip in anticipation as he guided you to lean forward, your hands gripping the cold metal of the railing again.

“You got it,” he teased your clit a moment longer before withdrawing his hand, pinching it lightly as he did.

“Unh…”

“God, you make the sweetest sounds, you know that?” Clint told you, and you smiled, glancing back at him.  You felt your stomach tighten as you watched his lips close around his fingers, and he winked as he caught your eye. “Eyes front, baby.”

Clint’s hand travelled from your hip around to your backside as you trained your eyes obediently on the city’s skyline, tugging your underwear down your thighs. He gripped your ass, massaging the soft flesh of it, and you heard the zipper on his pants lower.

“God, you’re pretty,” Clint said, his hand tightening on your backside for a moment. His voice turned a heady groan that you echoed as he pressed the head of his cock against your sex. He rubbed it along your slit a few times, teasing your clit again, before he positioned himself at your entrance. “Shit, you’re so wet…”

“Clint…” you whined, wiggling back against him. The head of his cock slipped inside you, and you moaned. He was thicker than you’d realized, and the two of you exhaled shakily as you adjusted to his size.

“Fuck…” Clint withdrew slightly before he thrust forward again, finger digging into your hips as he corkscrewed his hips slowly. He paused when he was buried to the hilt inside you, his lips touching your hair. “Holy shit, you’re tight.”

Any answer you had was lost when he thrust into you again, and your hands tightened on the railing in front of you. You could feel yourself stretch to accommodate him with every thrust, and each one had that coil in your belly tighten. Your eyes were on the city below you; all the lights from traffic and in the windows of the skyscrapers around you. He was right, it really was like being on display, and yet still totally alone.

A little world above it all, just the two of you.

You could hear the music and laughter from inside, muffled by the glass of the doors, and if anything, it simply excited you more.

Pushing back to meet his thrusts, you whimpered as you bounced forward with each push, held in place by Clint’s strong hands. He released your hip to run a hand up your spine, and a shiver followed it. Clint’s hand slipped over your ribs to tease your breast through your dress.

Your nipple hardened against his palm, and you arched your back, encouraging his touch to grow rough and more demanding. “Fuck, Clint… _oh, fuck_!”

His hand had slid down your belly to find your clit, and the sudden touch made your whole body shudder. Clint echoed your sentiment as you clenched around him, the rhythm of his hips stuttering.

“Oh, _God…_ Clint, I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come…” you moaned, your thighs shaking as you felt your orgasm begin to crest, the coil inside you tight. The pressure of his fingers increased, the sound of flesh meeting flesh drowning out the muffled sounds from inside. “ _Clint_ …”

“Come for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “… _fucking_ come for me…”

Your release came with a cry, and you muffled it in the back of your hand, still holding the rail. Clint’s touch became more gentle, guiding you in long, measured thrusts as he let you ride it out. He abandoned your clit to instead grip the base of his cock, groaning as you squeezed him. “Christ, Y/N…”

You giggled dizzily, your body shaking with the aftermath. He brushed his thumb over your waist, and you jerked under his touch. “Damn.”

“That’s one word for it,” Clint laughed, pulling out of you. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down your slit slowly, his fist still tight around the base of his shaft. “Turn around.”

You did so on shaky legs and squeaked in surprise as Clint immediately caught you by the waist and pulled you into a kiss. He tasted of whiskey and smelled of sandalwood, and you balled your hands in the lapels of his suit jacket. Clint’s teeth caught your bottom lip, his fingers squeezing your waist before his left trailed up your arm to catch in your hair.

You could feel the length of him trapped between the two of you, pressing against your belly. You reached between your bodies to take him in hand, and Clint broke the kiss to release a shaky breath as you gave him an experimental squeeze. He was slick with your arousal, and you pumped him slowly, swiping your thumb over the head.

“Goddamn, Y/N, you’re torture,” he muttered, his breath fanning the base of your throat as his forehead fell against your shoulder. His fingers tickled the small of your back.

“Do you want me to stop?” you teased, and you snickered as you felt him shake his head. His fingers came down to hook into your panties – still halfway down your thighs – and he pushed them down your legs. You stepped out of them, thighs slick with your own arousal, and pressed closer to him.

“God, no. But I need to see your face this time.” Clint took hold of your waist again, and you yelped as he lifted you easily off the ground. He caught the sound with another kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth as he turned. You wrapped your legs around his waist, hands in his hair and you felt your back hit the wall beside the door. You’d still be out of sight to most everyone inside, unless they were standing at the other end of the room by the window and happened to look your way. “Ready for round two?”

You grinned, tugging him into another kiss eagerly. Clint lifted you, and you took hold of his erection again, guiding him into position. He entered you slowly again, each inch another swivel of his hips. Your eyes rolled back as your hips met his, and you took hold of his shoulders, using the wall behind you to raise yourself up again.

Clint took up an almost languid pace, his lips finding the curve of your collarbone, the expanse of your sternum. You pushed his jacket down his arms, eager to feel the muscles of his arms, and he let it drop to the floor, heedless of the expensive cut.

He peppered kisses along the neckline of your dress, using one hand to carefully pull the strap of it down you arm. When it caught, you leaned into him, reaching behind yourself to unzip the back of your dress. You only had a chance to slide it down a few inches before he was tugging at the front of your dress, bringing the cup of your bra down with it. Your nipple hardened under his heated gaze, and Clint gave you a wolfish smile before he ran his tongue around it and sucked it into his mouth.

“Clint…” your nails scored his back through his shirt, your head rolling back against the wall as his hips took up a more aggressive pace. He groaned as you ran your fingers through his hair, brushing past his ear, and you did it again just, so he’d repeat the sound. His fingers dug into your ass, bouncing you on his cock, each thrust eliciting an excited breath from you.

You could feel another orgasm ready to break over you within minutes, and you brought his lips up to yours desperately. God, he felt so good inside you, every touch he gave you felt like firecrackers on your skin, and you—

“Barton?”

You broke the kiss, panicked, your hands clutching at Clint’s shoulders. His hips stopped.

“You out here?”

Clint’s hand slipped from under you, and he winked at you, finger to his lips before he lowered his hand to your clit. “Keep it quiet, baby.” He murmured as he circled it with his fingers. He raised his voice. “Yeah, Sam. Needed some fresh air.”

You whimpered as he increased the speed, still buried to the hilt inside you. Your thighs shook, that imminent orgasm beginning to take hold again. Sam didn’t move from where he held the door open, and as long as he didn’t, you wouldn’t be seen.

“Have you seen Y/N?”

Clint grinned at you as you wound his tie around your hand, pulling his face to yours. His forehead rested against yours, his hips moving again, slowly, careful not to make a sound. “Not for a while. You check her room?”

“Yeah, she ain’t in there.” Sam replied. “Nat’s takin’ a few of us out for another round. You in?”

Clint angled his hips slightly and you felt your whole body seize, and you pitched forward as you came. You muffled your moan by biting down on Clint’s shoulder, your hips shaking as his fingers continued their ministrations. He struggled to keep his voice steady, his hips jerking erratically as you rode him. “I, uh… think I’m gonna turn in, man.”

“No problem. You see Y/N, tell her the invite stands?”

“Sure.”

“Kid’s probably asleep somewhere.” Sam joked. “Or, hey, maybe she met herself a guy. Night, man.”

As soon as the door was closed Clint swore, his hips returning to a brutal pace. He pounded into you, fingers digging into your hips, his face buried in your neck.

Still at the mercy of your latest orgasm, you clung to him as you rode it out in waves, leaning down to capture his earlobe between your lips. You grazed it with your teeth gently, teasingly. “Come for me, Clint.”

He did with a broken moan, shuddering against you. You brought his face to yours as the two of you came down, meeting his lips in a more chaste kiss than before. His grip eased on your backside as he pulled out, and you leaned against the wall for support as he carefully set you back down on shaky legs and now regrettable high heels. “Holy shit…”

You smiled as Clint leaned into you, braced on a hand he rested by your shoulder. His lips dusted your collarbone again, and he gently adjusted your bra and dress back into place. His hand slid down your arm to catch your fingers in his, and you interlaced them experimentally.

“So.” You said quietly, as he tucked himself, one-handed, back into his pants. You refastened his zipper and belt for him, and when you continued, you tried to keep your tone measured, casual. “Was it as good as it was in your head?”

Clint chuckled lightly, straightening. He reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “We didn’t have a guest appearance in my head.”

You smacked him, and he raised his hand in defense. “Hey! I didn’t invite him!”

“You know what you did,” you said petulantly, raising a hand to smack his chest again. He caught hold of easily, pulling you to his chest and catching your lips with his own.

You melted into it; it was soft, sweet… It was a yearning that was different from the heated touch of his lips from before. When he broke away, he bumped his forehead gently against yours before he straightened to meet your gaze again.

“Baby, you’re a damn goddess.”

You grinned, a blush blooming on your cheeks. “You ain’t so bad yourself.”

“Cheers…” Clint said with a grin, rescuing your abandoned underwear from the ground. He winked childishly at you and slingshot them off the balcony with his fingers.

“Hey!”

“Now,” Clint continued, catching you around the waist. “What do you think the chances are we can sneak you into my room tonight?”


End file.
